


Danse Macabre

by Eatgreass



Category: Hamlet - All Media Types, Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Established relationship?, Hamlet and ophelia or hamlet and horatio, I mean lots and lots of pain and its never completly ok but theres nowhere to go but up!, I think it will end up as a fix it, Kind of a fix it?, Multi, Suicide, Suicide Attempts, but only 1/3, fuck claudius, gertrude rescues ophelia from the pond, gertrude wasn't bad she was just forced to do things, he has TWO hands, is it really major character death if its only for a little while?, or claudius?, suicidal ideations, why not both?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26553070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eatgreass/pseuds/Eatgreass
Summary: Gertrude sees Ophelia jump into the pond, her pockets laden with rocks. And Gertrude jumps in as well, pulling the dying girl to the banks, changing everything.
Relationships: Gertrude & Hamlet (Hamlet), Gertrude & Ophelia, Hamlet & Horatio, Hamlet/Horatio/Ophelia (Hamlet)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	1. Difference and Death

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [a king of infinite space, bound in a nutshell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24957169) by [opheliasnettles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/opheliasnettles/pseuds/opheliasnettles). 



> Ok so I read the best fic, https://archiveofourown.org/works/24957169 , and the story idea sat in my mind for a while so I wrote it. I hope I do it justice lol, since this has ended up already being over ten chapters from what I've plotted out.

This is a story about a girl that never got her story told. This is a story about a girl that should have lived, and this is the story of the girl that did live, despite her own attempts to end her life. This is a story about Ophelia, and this is a story about Gertrude, and this is a story of what could have happened, had a second in time, or an instant of life, been changed. 

This is a story of what happened when Gertrude saw Ophelia bind her mouth with flowers, put on her heaviest dress, and fill the pockets of her dress with rocks. 

\----

Gertrude was not an evil woman. In fact, when Claudius put a knife to her throat and told her that he was going to be king, she accepted out of love, and the marriage was done in weeks. She saw the way the eyes of the castle fell on her, her son looking with anger and betrayal, not seeing how she had saved him from certain death. She saw the eyes of the people, the way they thought she was an incestuous woman, power hungry, and uncaring. 

She suffered it all because it kept her son alive, it kept the castle alive, if slowly withering, and it kept the country from disrepair. 

Her new husband  _ was  _ an evil man. He had killed his own brother, (she had seen it all. So many people do not see a woman hidden in the tall grass.) and come to her, talking about a snake, and a marriage, and saving the kingdom. And when Gertrude had refused that marriage, he had put a dagger to her throat, letting drops of blood soak her pale white dress. No matter. She would be wearing black the next day, anyway. 

So she had taken his offer, stilled his anger, and done as much as she could to keep her world spinning. It was fitting, then, that the only other woman of high standing in the castle was the one that looked at her with empathy. It was fitting, then, that the only other noblewoman in the castle had definitively chosen not to be. 

You can make a choice, and as a woman in Elsinore, you can have that choice denied to you. Ophelia’s choice of death was denied to her when Gertrude ran to the pond, in all her dresses and jewels and skirts, and dived in after the young maiden. When Gertrude came up from the water, choking and gasping, with a woman only in bedclothes clutched in her arms, and dragged the dead weight to the edge of the pond, a choice was denied, and Gertrude was finally able to take back some of the power that had been denied to her.

Ophelia woke up from the pond with Gertrude's lips on hers, pumping air back into the lungs, pressing on her chest and begging for the water to leave the chasm, and she fell into Gertrude’s arms.

“Mother,” she said. “Mother, mother, oh mother, you’ve come back.” She coughed dirty pond water onto the skirts, and sobbed as Gertrude held her, rocking and shushing her, oblivious to the rest of the world. 

“Mother,” said Ophelia, “What happened? What was done?” 

Gertrude only shushed the girl, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head as the sun beat down. 

Then: “Where’s my father?”

Gertrude stopped. She went quiet, looking down at the girl in her arms, impossibly frail for somebody this well taken care of. “She must have stopped eating in the end,” thought Gertrude. 

“Polonius,” she whispered. 

“Yes,” said Ophelia, and her eyes widened. “Oh.  _ Oh.” _

“What do you remember?” asked Gertrude. “What do you remember my… my  _ mouse.” _

“Flowers,” said Ophelia. “I remember flowers and rose thorns and singing. I remember, I remember  _ water.” _

_ “ _ I jumped,” said Ophelia. 

“Yes.”

“I jumped and you brought me back.”

“Yes.”

“And my mother is dead. Long dead, and my father is gone to meet her!” Ophelia began to cry again. My parents in hell, and I was going to join them!”

“We need you here, my good lady,” said Gertrude. “We need you as the linchpin. There is trouble here, and you may well be able to stop it.”

“No! No, I was going to join them and I was going to get my out, leave this castle and city and war and let myself rest. How dare you? How dare you stop me from this?” She pushed back against Gertrude, falling into the shallow water at the pond’s edge. “How dare you take away the only thing I was given? How dare you think you know better than me, that you know what I need more than I do?"

Gertrude reached out a hand. 

Ophelia spit out a flower, and coughed up muck and phlegm, washing her hand in the putrid water. “This  _ is  _ hell,” she said, quieter. “I want to go to a hell where those I love live.”

“Those you love  _ do  _ live, my sweet lady.” Gertrude took Ophelia's hand. “Give us a month. Nay, a fortnight. And then you will be free to make your own choice, whatever you will.” 

“Whatever I will,” echoed Ophelia. 

“A dagger would have been kinder to yourself,” said Gertrude. “Come.”

The two women, drenched in pond water, walked the stone steps to the castle, braced on each other’s arms for support, Gertrude uncaring about the servants stopping to gawk at them, only directing them to fill a bath for the lady.\

Ophelia was still angry, still livid, still half mad. But more than that, she was tired. So she let Gertrude guide her, wipe away her tears, and pluck the twigs from off her gash-covered face. 

“You cannot be baptized in unclean water,” said Gertrude, “But make sure you let this water wash off the stains from your last sin.” Ophelia nodded. “And there is a servant at the door,” she said. “Because this is so fresh, the pain so raw and new, I’m not letting you alone in the water.” 

“And you?” Ophelia managed, shivering.

Gertrude glared. “I,” she said, “am going to meet my husband-brother in court, in front of an audience. If he kills me later, at least the poisoned cup had a purpose. This is not going to go on  _ any  _ longer.”


	2. Queen of nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gertrude meets her husband again, soaking wet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've started working on this one again, which is always fun. As usual, I'e put tws in the end notes. I'm really excited to get back to this project.

Imperious. Queenlike. Everything Gertrude was supposed to be, and everything she had failed to be in the same token.

The stones were soaked behind her, and in no way was she fit to be a lady. In no way was she fit to barge into the court, her face framed with daggers and reeds, and scream. 

“Husband!” she called, marching directly to stand in front of the throne. It was against procedures, but what did that matter?

He stood, gaping at her, looking shocked that she, the mild queen, was covered in water storming into the court. 

“Ophelia,” she said, looking directly at Laertes who was standing beside the king, “Has tried to drown herself.”

Laertes made a move for his sword. “Is that why you’re dripping wet?” asked Claudius, utterly uninterested.

“Yes,” said Gertrude. “I would ask her  _ why  _ she has made such a decision herself when she comes in here clean, instead of useless guessing about motives.”

“My sister?” asked Laertes. 

Gertrude nodded her assent. “If you try to kill my son over this, it won’t go over well, so I’d save yourself the effort.”

Laertes tentatively let go of the hilt of his sword. “Where is she?” 

“Washing herself.”

Laertes opened his mouth to protest. 

“Not alone,” said Gertrude. “You think I’m enough of a fool to send her alone into water again, fifteen minutes afer she tried to drown herself in a lake?”

Laertes strode up to the queen, taking over her space, staring down at her. Gertrude matched his even glare. “I’m not intimidated,” she said. “And we aren’t your enemies here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to wash myself up as well.” And with that, she stalked out of the room, leaving the king and Laertes in a stunned silence. 

\---

Gertrude didn’t waste time cleaning herself. She submerged herself until the leaves and rotten flowers were out of her hair, and she dried off and changed into a clean dress. Then, she went to find Ophelia. 

Knocking tentatively on the door to the room she left Ophelia in, she put her ear to the door. “Ophelia?”

The delicate girl stepped out of the room, dressed only in underclothes, nearly falling over herself. “Gertrude?”

“We’re going to fix this. Rest, Ophelia, and I’m going to fix this.”

“Rest,” Ophelia repeated hollowly. “No.”

“What?”

“No, I can’t rest. Not right now, when the world is like this.”

“Ophelia-”

“No.” Ophelia held the queen’s gaze, unwavering. “Take me to see the king.”

Gertrude sighed. Stubbornness ran in the family, she supposed. “After you see the king, you promise to rest?”

“I promise to rest when the world is enough at peace.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It’s what you’ll get.”

Gertrude closed her eyes, and took the hand of the young woman before her. In some ways, she was glad the iron will was reappearing. 

\---

Set before Claudius, Ophelia did exactly what she had done before she tried to die. “How should I your true love know,” she said, stalking up so that she was spitting in his face, “From another one?” “By his rose and broken staff, and his moon and crown.”

Claudus opened his mouth to speak. Ophelia screamed over whatever else he had to say. “I was dead and gone, mother. I was dead and gone.”

“I’m not your mother.”

Ophelia paused. “Father and mother, flesh and blood. My father is my mother, and you were my father, hidden in the arras with him, so you are the last I have left.” She began to sing again. “At my head a grass-green turf, at your feet a stone.” Ophelia could see that his knuckles were pale white on his staff, and anger was beginning to grow, so she gave him no time to retaliate. 

“Black your shroud as the fennel seeds, larded with blood dahlias. Which bewept to the ground will not go, away from the gallia.” 

He was pale. 

“Tomorrow is the Christmas-tide,” said Ophelia, a smile curving at her lips. “All in the morning betime. And I,” she leaned closer, so that Claudius could smell her foul, pond water breath, “A prince at your window, to sing your foolish rhyme. Then up I rose, and stemmed my doze, and took the chamber door. Let in a king that out a king, never departed no more.”

“Enough,” said Claudius, moving to rise. 

She shoved him backwards with all the strength she had, and he, momentarily stunned, sat. 

“By Gis and by Saint Charity, alack and fie for shame. Old men will do it, if they come to it, the sword is not to blame.”

She took a deep breath, and spoke again. Best not to lose her nerve now. “Quoth she, ‘Before you tumbled me, you promised me to wed.”’

“He answers, ‘So would I have gave, if my cousin knave, I’d sent him not swift to the grave.”’

Ophelia leaned back, content with her song.

“She’s still mad,” said Claudius above her head, and Ophelia felt rage flash inside of her. 

“No, I’m not.” She glanced at Gertrude, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. “I’m angry, I suppose. I want the corruption to end, and I don’t care if I die. I’m ready to expose the filth you’ve taken to heart. If that makes me mad, execute your wife as well.”

Laertes looked at his sister in shock. Gertrude took him by the arm and attempted to lead him out of the room, but he resisted, fixing his eyes instead on his sister, who was now backing away from Claudius’s throne, too afraid to turn her back on him. Smart girl. 

Gertrude took both of the children by their hands, and led them out of the room, to her own private quarters. Perhaps a discussion would do them both some good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tws: Abuse, madness.  
> Find on tumblr as @king-of-a-walnut


	3. At Odds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ophelia and Horatio go to meet Hamlet.

“What did you do to her?” Laertes raised his blade and Gertrude flashed back to a moment in which her son had been holding the blade, chastising her for a choice she never had. 

She bit the anger down, and took hold of his rapier, not caring that she sliced her hand and left a thin stream of blood dripping to the carpet. 

“Put down the sword and we’ll talk.”

Laertes glared, and Ophelia took a decorative dagger off the shelf, miming slitting her throat. 

Laertes dropped his sword. 

“Nobody’s  _ made  _ me anything,” said Ophelia. “You told me what to make of myself, and I didn’t listen, and then Hamlet tried to mold me like clay, and it didn’t work, and our dear father- I loved him so much- used me. Nobody’s made me anything. I  _ made  _ myself.”

“My poor sister,” said Laertes, reaching out. Ophelia flinched away. 

“My poor brother,” she retorted. 

“Hamlet will be  _ dead  _ soon,” said Gertrude, cutting in between the arguments. 

“Good,” said Laertes and Ophelia in unison. 

“He killed my father.”

“He left me to rot, talking about women and whorehouses.”

“He’s my son.”

“And I was my father’s son,” said Laertes loudly. “I hold no amount of pity for him.”

“I saved you,” said Gertrude, looking at Ophelia. “And you,” looking this time at Laertes, “Would be caught up in the king's web if I was not there.”

“So what?” asked Laertes. “Should we feel sorry for him? Guilty that he committed murder that shattered Ophelia, and now he’s off to face the consequence? I hold no emotion for him in my heart save rage.”

“It’s not for him,” snapped Gertrude. “I am a mother, and a mother loves her son, despite all that he does. I am not asking you to help  _ Hamlet.  _ I am asking you to help  _ me.  _ And I very much think that I have earned the right to ask for assistance in this area.”

The three sat in silence, staring at each other. “What now?” asked Ophelia. 

“Now,” said Gertrude, “Now, we find Horatio.”

\---

Horatio had just been given a letter that his best friend was returning to Denmark, and was frantically attempting to tidy the quarters he’d been loaned when the queen, Ophelia, and Laertes burst into his quarters. 

“What is it?” he asked, wearily. God knew he had done too much already.

“It’s Hamlet,” said Gertrude, panting. 

“It always is.”

“He’s going to  _ die!” _

“He’s coming back,” said Horatio, holding up the letter he had been given. 

“Does the king know?” asked Ophelia, snatching the letter from Horatio’s hands.

“Yes,” said Horatio. “The pirates demanded a ransom.”

Ophelia quickly read through the rest of the letter, her eyes growing wider at each line, and finally, she folded it back up. She gave Horatio a funny look. “Be there to greet him.”

Gertrude opened her mouth to protest, but Ophelia whirled on the queen. “Really, do you think he’ll want to see you? I don’t want to see him. Neither does my brother. Horatio is only one Hamlet will react well to.”

Gertrude closed her mouth. 

“He’s even madder than you thought I was,” said Ophelia. 

Horatio looked like he was about to say something, but instead turned to snap his suitcase shut. “I’ll be at the pier as soon as possible.”

“I’ll walk you there,” said Ophelia. 

“I forbid it,” said Laertes. “You’re in such- such a fragile state already-”

“Horatio can handle me,” said Ophelia. “And I’m tired of being mother-henned. Go deal with your own problems.”

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” said Gertrude. 

“Oh, Horatio will vouch for my sanity.” Ophelia smiled and looked at Horatio, holding up the letter in an unmistakable gesture. Horatio just looked defeated. 

“I assure you, I believe this is something she needs.”

Gertrude and Laertes still looked dubious, but Gertrude nodded. “Fine. Laertes-”

“Yes?”

“Stay with me. If I’m alone I can guarantee my death.”

Laertes nodded and gripped his sword. “Taught to be a soldier so young,” thought Gertrude, but she said nothing. 

\---

Horatio had been silent, answering all of Ophelia’s questions with short ‘yes’ and ‘nos’ anytime she tried to make conversation. 

“Why won’t you talk to me!” she cried, stepping in front of him. 

“Damn it, Ophelia, because  _ literally the only person  _ in this castle that treats me like an equal is Hamlet, and I don’t  _ know  _ you. With a single word you could get me thrown out of the Elsinore, so I’m walking on eggshells. And since you know about Hamlet and I, you could get me executed.”

“So there  _ is  _ a you and Hamlet?”

“No.” Horatio pushed past Ophelia, and kept walking. “We’re best friends, and that’s it.”

“I don’t care,” scoffed Ophelia. “I don’t know what you see in him, and I don’t want him for myself.”

“Why are you coming with me, then?” asked Horatio, looking at her. 

Ophelia was blindsided, and Horatio smiled. “He  _ will  _ want to see you, I know that.”

“Well, I don’t want to see  _ him.”  _

“You say that.”

\----

It was windy at the pier, and Ophelia felt sick at the sight of the waves lapping against the rocks. Horatio put a steadying hand on her arm. “It’s okay.”

“I  _ know.”  _

Horatio opened his mouth, closed it again, and then spoke carefully. “He’s treated you wrong, but-”

“I’m not going to forgive him.”

“I’m not asking you to. Only to be aware of the situation.”

“I will. And in return-” Horatio looked at her tentatively- “You don’t fight my battle for me.”

Deal,” said Horatio, thinking that in terms of women, Hamlet had made a fine choice.

“Is that his ship?” asked Ophelia, pointing. 

‘I doubt he owns a ship.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” said Horatio, squinting through his glasses. “I think that’s him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID look it up, glasses were a thing back then, so we can headcanon horatio as wearing glasses and it will be historically accurate!

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, I'm SO excited to write the next part. SO excited.


End file.
